


Different Nights

by purkledragon



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purkledragon/pseuds/purkledragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One word can make a world of difference, but what about two or three? Make sure you're listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Nights

"Routine." He pauses taking a long drag off his cigarette, then slowly repeats the word sounding out the syllables. "Rou·tine. A noun. A prescribed, detailed course of action to be followed regularly; a standard procedure. A set of customary and often mechanically performed procedures or activities. An adjective. In accord with established procedure. Habitual, regular. Having no special quality; ordinary."

"Expanding your vocabulary?"

It was a reply at least, not one that he expects, not that he had expected a reply in the first place from the usually quiet redhead. He shrugs, "Dictionary or a bible left by the Gideons..."

"You would have been better off with the bible."

Exhaling, the smoke slowly blows upward by the evening breeze, Yohji realizes he can only think to agree.

 

~~

Faded paint clung to the walls, a dark and dingy nondescript brown that once had covered the multitude of sins that had taken place within the room. Nothing of the room spoke of much other than the here and now, that no one would take notice of the two blood covered men who had rented said room for the right price.

They barely made it through the door.

Too many belts and buckles held together Aya's coat, but he was not about to ask the occupied redhead to help out. Aya's hands were just fine where they were, thank-you-very-much, as they worked their way into the space between his pants and skin. His own coat had hit the floor within their first few seconds in the room. The way Aya worked it was not lonely for long as the rest of his gear landed next to it.

They were in an older hotel that had apparently missed the invention of indoor heating yet, stripped down and pressed hard against the wall he still felt hot. Aya's coat hit the floor, and before he had a chance to cool off, the temperature seemed to rise higher with the sudden skin on skin contact.

~~

 

"Have they called yet?"

"No." A quick glare dares him to challenge the answer, not that he would.

He ignores it, and lights up another cigarette instead. It is much colder out than they expected. It looks to only get more so if his companion is any indicator, and he thinks next time he will remember to toss a spare jacket into their bag. He knows he has thought that before, but maybe this time he has finally learned that lesson. He has strong doubts on that however.

 

~~

It is one of the things he always liked about sex with Aya, how he would go full out as if his very life depended upon it. It was like watching Abyssinian in battle mode--efficient, thorough, with no wasted movement or actions. How he imaged someone unsure of his own place and end in life would react to their almost everyday routine.

The bed was hard. Sheets feeling as if they had been washed one too many times in industrial strength bleach and not much else added to the scratches along his back. And the sounds that came from him were far more appropriate from a two dollar whore, not that Aya would know this, but damn if the way Aya touched him didn't make him want to let everyone in hearing distance know. Under that apparently cool exterior, flowed pure hot blood that any male would appreciate. Especially, as it was accompanied by someone with very talented hands and other skilled attributes.

~~

 

"You know, we all have our ghosts." There is no noticeable answer from Aya, once again he does not expect one, not yet anyway. "Mine happen to have better timing though." He glances over at Aya; still nothing that anyone who does not know the redhead well enough would be able to discern as a reaction; although, anyone who does would be quick to see the way he has tensed beneath the calm.

He wants to break that shell, wants answers to questions he really does not want to ask and yet, "So which one was it?" Pauses long enough to inhale once more, the cold air and smoke fills his throat and lungs burning both.

"Fuck off."

Better he thinks, tilting his head slightly toward Aya. "I think I just did; except for the part where you were the one fucking me." He has the bruises to prove it. So he asks again, pushing harder against the wall that slammed between them earlier. "Who was it?"

The walls of the room below spoke more of past participants in illicit affairs than Aya Fujimiya ever would. He still had a few cards up his sleeves however, "Shion? No, too old. You don't seem the type with father issues. Yuushi?" That one makes the redhead twitch. "You talk in your sleep." He laughs, "Then again we both know that, that's how you got your name..."

He wants to brush off the sudden chill that comes over him, sure it is nothing but the cold night air once more bothering him. And yet, "Aya?"

~~

The sheets would have felt even rougher against his face and chest, or worse his dick, if it hadn't been for the fact that Aya kept him in place, hips held too tight while he rocked on hands and knees. Lower level grunts and panted breaths that came from him while Aya fucked him hard and silent were the only sounds audible in the small room; even they were too loud in the otherwise fractured quiet. Pushed up, ever so close to the edge, the touch of Aya's hand lowered from his side added just the needed release. Brain orgasm-addled still from lack of proper blood flow, he fell face first onto the bed, realized that he had been released from the other's grip mostly premature.

 

~~

"Don't you dare." Violet eyes glare at him. Silently he gives thanks to whatever god watches over idiots and fools that Aya's katana is still downstairs, not that it makes the situation any less dangerous.

"I wasn't suggesting anything, calm down." He backs up, stepping away slowly until his back is up against the wall. The bricks are cold and rough, his shirt is way too short and thin for this tonight.

Aya turns away, and he breathes a sigh of relief before reaching for his third or fourth smoke since he tracked Aya upstairs. One long fucked up night this has turned out to be.

 

~~

It wasn't anger that lit his eyes this time, or near any other annoyance emotional display that was typically revealed. "Aya?" The room was already empty; the door slammed shut as the first syllable left his mouth. Rolling out of the bed, he wondered just what set the other off this time. It had become an odd habit between them. He had stopped trying to figure it out long ago.

Figured that after a shower, if the water in the room worked that was, at least one of them would feel better, he left Aya to his own devices.

 

~~

Inhale, exhale.

It starts to come back, in almost perfect clarity or as best as his mind can relate. The room hadn't been completely quiet, Aya not totally silent. His own fucked up ghosts don't have the most wonderful sense of timing after all. Eyes wide, he turns to look at Aya. Can't fathom how he's going to ask this one without sounding as stupid as he feels. "Aya..."

The god who had been watching over him has a sense of humor, an evil wicked sense of humor that would impress a few rivals of theirs. Aya's phone rings—Omi and right on time.

He tosses his half finished cigarette off the side of the roof. Watches as it hits the fire escape a few floors down. "Fuck." Because there's really nothing else he can think or say at the moment.

But tomorrow is another night.


End file.
